


Decepticon Scenarios Competition Entry

by Matrix_Matriarch



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cybertronian culture, Cybertronian holidays, Dating Giant Robots, Decepticon Scenarios, Established Relationship, Fem-Coded Reader, Fluff and Angst, Mixnote's Competition Entry, Multi, human reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matrix_Matriarch/pseuds/Matrix_Matriarch
Summary: Thanks to antics involving a giant tear in reality you get to explore Cybertronian holidays before the war with your favourite Decepticons (it's less dangerous than it sounds, honest).This is based off Mixnote's Decepticon Scenarios, which you should all check out! Cross-posted from Quotev.
Relationships: Breakdown/Reader, Knockout/Reader, Megatron/Reader, Predaking/reader, Reader/Everyone, Soundwave/Reader, Starscream/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	Decepticon Scenarios Competition Entry

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Love (Decepticon Scenarios)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402797) by [Mixnote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixnote/pseuds/Mixnote). 



“What is it? Is it safe?” The tear in reality before you pulsates prettily with pinkish light, and beyond it is something which has your mech gazing fixedly as though a siren call had been strung from the lips of the chief sea-maiden herself and wrung into a tapestry of equally irresistible magnetic draw.

“A space-time fissure - it’s a temporal anomaly which allows people to view a moment in time without being able to impact it… Only watch. I had never hoped to see one until now, and yet… We haven’t a moment to waste.” With that, he scoops you into his servos and steps through.

Before you is something you could never have imagined. A mechanical wonderland of a living, metallic world. Now you understand why your companion was so enthralled by the anomaly: the point in space time which it allowed you to view was Cybertron… Before it was destroyed by the ravages of war.

=================================================

**Megatron**

You gaze in awe at the grand display of celebrations – mechs of all classes and alt-modes milling about. Some are clustered in groups at the side of streets, delicate patterns and colours being hand-painted and even engraved onto their frames. Others seem to be passing around glowing tablets with Cybertronian glyphs on them. In a square down one street, you can see some Transformers in elaborate armour with wide, sweeping shapes and glimmering capes performing some sort of dance.

“The Festival of Primes… Ah, how pretentious I used to find it.” His crimson gaze is wistful and distant, but he cradles you firmly in his servos as he speaks. “How they prance around, so eager to pay tribute to the ones who set the foundations for millennia of oppression. How easily I began to fall into the oppressive role I scorned.”

“You aren’t the Megatron who did all those terrible things anymore. Those things can never be undone, but you are not that person any longer… When the war is over, you will have great parades in your honour just like this, and you had better not think it’s pretentious, because you’ll deserve it!” You reassure him.

“Heh… You know just how to ease this weary mech’s spark, little one. Ah, look there!” He shifts you to one servo to point a heavy digit at one of the performers parading down the street. It’s a dancer, like the ones you spotted earlier, but this one moves with leaden footsteps, as if burdened with a great weight. They have an intimidating build, with many jagged edges to their costume, and a dark paintjob grey as damp clay with smouldering magma streams of orange biolights beneath the plating. Their faceplates are hidden by a dramatic mask composed of rusting scrap, coupled with a veil so black it was virtually opaque. The bold yet solemn grace with which they carry themselves intrigues you.

“Who is that?” You ask.

“The Fallen Prime… It became tradition for any performer donning his image during the festival to obscure their face to show penitence for The Fallen’s supposed transgressions… I identified with the ostracised Prime and took his name… Megatronus.”

“So that’s your namesake… He suits you, Megatron. But to me, no mech will ever match your might and splendour. Not even a prime. Especially not a prime.”

“Is that so?” His lips reveal the gleam of razor teeth beneath them as he chuckles, but you find yourself free of the fear you once had seeing those sharp edges. Likewise, the single, sharp digit he runs through your hair in a gesture of affection lacks all threat its once held, and offers only comfort.

“Seeing Cybertron as it was… Now there is one desire I never dared wish to be fulfilled, much less with someone I care as deeply for as I do this ruined planet… However, the longer we spend here, the more danger there is of spending eternity in limbo between our own time and this one.”

“Oh? Does the thought of spending forever with me scare you, my great Lord Megatron?”

“Ha, not at all, but I would rather spend it with you in a tangible reality, and not with little more than ghosts of the past…” With that, he ushers you back through the swirling portal.

**Starscream**

“These lanterns… It must be the Festival of Lost Light…” Starscream lets out a deep vent as he stalks through the space-time fissure with you perched on one shoulder. From your vantage point, you can see that the festival is aptly named, for everywhere around you lanterns are abright, filling the air like a thousand suns and scattered across the ground. Despite the breath-stealing beauty of the scene, every lantern-bearing mech looked sullen and subdued. Beneath the floating lanterns, a warm glow spilled upwards from Cybertron’s ground, giving it the appearance of being alive with electricity. Energon crystals bloomed here and there as flowering geodes.

“It’s dazzling… I don’t think I really understood what you meant when you told me Cybertron was a ‘living planet’ until now, but I see… It’s alive with light. What are they celebrating?”

“The lights that burn no more… We are a species which only lives as long as the lights in our chest are blazing, so the Festival of Lost Light is in honour of those whose sparks are now extinguished. We set out glowing lanterns in memory of our loved ones.”

“I think we Earthlings have a similar tradition in Japan… But we can’t light up the sky in quite the same way…”

“I imagine not, after all, there’s nothing quite like Cybertronian festivities. Ours is the most advanced technological race after all. Why, in the Seeker city of Vos, we would have great flight parades wherein all the city would take to the air and I, with my trinemates, would lead the-“ He broke off suddenly.

You turned to face him, and in that moment he seemed so hollow, grey and ghost-like. The effect of the space-time fissure left the both of you slightly translucent, the pink glow of its energy the only colour lent to your forms. In this, Starscream’s homeland, he’d never looked so sorely out of place.

“Your trinemates… They were Thundercracker and Skywarp, right?”

He nods, “Trine are the closest approximation we Cybertronians have to family.”

“You called them brothers before…” You trail off, eyes alighting on two lanterns that were about to liberate themselves from the ground. “Hey, you see those two lights over there? They can be for Skywarp and Thundercracker’s sparks. It may be millions of years before they’ll join with the Allspark, but it’s the gesture that counts, not the specific space-time anomaly that allows you to do it.”

Starscream’s grip tightens around you and his frame begins to shudder. When you glance back in concern, his faceplates are crumpled and his optical sensors are leaking coolant. “I… Never had the chance to do anything for them before… I couldn’t even recover their greyed frames… Part of me hoped if I never did, I could pretend they survived. They escaped the war and joined a neutral colony somewhere, and they’d comm me when it was all over. We’d reunite and be happy.” He turns his crimson gaze to you. “It’s better to just say goodbye.”

As the spark-lanterns danced off among the stars, you couldn’t help but wish for Starscream’s wistful musing to come true. It’s a pity none of the moving lights in the sky were shooting stars.

**Soundwave**

The obnoxiously bright holo-banner spanning between two buildings and sporting even brighter illegible Cybertronian glyphs was the very first to greet your eyes as Soundwave carried you through. You squint and attempt to piece together its meaning from your limited Cybertronian.

“’Motherboard Day?’ Seems like some poor bot is going to bust their motherboard just trying to get down this street without being distracted by the neon glare over here.”

“Statement: no bot will be in danger of that on this cycle. Reason: they will be celebrating Motherboard Day, and so will be safe from colliding outside their homes, because they will be within their homes.”

“Ohhh… So that’s why the streets are so empty. What’s Motherboard Day?”

Soundwave inclines his masked helm towards you. “It’s a special Cybertronian holiday for you and I.”

“Aw, that’s sweet, but seriously, what is it?”

The sound of his synthesised laughter rings out. “Motherboard Day: Soundwave’s favourite holiday on pre-war Cybertron. Purpose: celebrate the origins of mechanical life, and all who care for it. As Y/N knows, I have always cared for it.” One spindly servo taps Laserbeak where the minicon was docked on Soundwave’s chassis for emphasis.

“That you have… So, it’s a bit like Mother’s Day?”

Soundwave nods, then, without warning, walks straight through a wall into a towering building. Inside, the walls have a softer, more colourful look, with spherical-based interiors rather than the sharp, dark, angular style of the Nemesis that had served as your main reference for Cybertronian architecture up until now. Everywhere there are small Cybertronians tottering around, all silvery, new, with delicate wire swirls exposed along the outside of their frames. Protoforms. Behind each, a doting fully-formed Transformer watching and caring for them, murmuring and laughing among themselves.

“Cybertronians: Do not have the same concepts of ‘mothers’ as organics do. Closest technical approximation: Primus Himself, our creator and life-giver. This cycle is dedicated to celebrating not only Primus’ gift of life, but our own ability to nurture it.” He informs you in that musical voice of his. The master spy then crouches down to watch the little younglings tumble and play together.

“So, gladiator and revolutionist pre-war Soundwave looked forward to the one time of year he could play with little children? Adorable.” You tease. Soundwave merely shakes his helm.

“On Cybertron, we have no embarrassment for mechs who look after sparklings-!” His sentence was cut off in a surprised burst of static as one of the protoforms stumbled. He put out a servo to catch the little Cybertronian, but they phased right through, landing on the ground. The protoform looked momentarily discombobulated, before scrambling to its pedes to join with the others, not sparing either of you a single glance. Soundwave looked almost upset for the first time since you had entered the space-time fissure.

“Hey… Soundwave? I’m really glad we were able to see this side of Cybertron. The protoforms are very cute.”

“Query: Why? None of it is real. We can do nothing here. Cybertron: Will never be the same again.”

“Maybe we can’t have things exactly the way they were, but with how hard you work, the war is sure to be over soon. When it is, we can have a nursery like this, and every Motherboard Day we’ll take special care of Laserbeak, Ravage, Rumble. Frenzy and Ratbat.”

“Soundwave: Is lucky to have a family with Y/N.” He cradles you close to his spark.

**Knock Out**

Everywhere around you elegant, grandiose music is playing, and mechs line the streets, strut to strut, packed tighter than pins in a pot. Each one is waxed and gleaming with a rare brilliance beneath Cybertron’s suns, and many are gilded or etched with patterns you assume hold special significance. Knock Out immediately seems ecstatic upon seeing it.

“Ooh Y/N you are one lucky femme!” He exclaims excitedly, walking to the front of the crowd as if they were little more than smoke.

“Why’s that? What’s going on?” You ask, more confused than ever.

“This is a momentous occasion that the space-time fissure decided to deposit us into! You’ll be the first organic to ever witness it. It’s the Primal Procession – a ceremony that only occurs when new Primes are selected. Really though, it’s an excuse to look your very best.”

“Of course you would be excited about an event like that,” You smile knowingly, “Any opportunity to show off your finish.”

Knock Out gasps, jokingly offended. “Me? Show off? Why, how could you say such a thing? I’ll have you know I was simply delighted to take the chance to support our newest Prime, and if I could support them by getting as shiny as possible and marching in a parade alongside them, so be it. It was a burden I was willing to bear!”

“What a dutiful mech you are, Doctor Knock Out.”

“Indeed I am, and you are lucky to have met me. Especially since I am very familiar with how space-time fissures work, so I know we can do this!” With that, he stepped straight out into the road and jumped into the Prime’s carriage as it was carried past. None of the guards paid you any mind – it was as though you didn’t exist.

“Whoa! Bet we wouldn’t have gotten away with that if we were actually here.”

Knock Out laughs. “No… We’d be thrown into Iacon prison for about 2000 vorns before they’d even hold a trail if we attempted something like this back in the day. Luckily, what happens four million years in the future, they can’t arrest us for four million years in the past.”

“That’s just as well! Sounds like we’d spend our lives behind bars otherwise.”

“Er, yes. Anyhow, behold! His holiness, the Prime!” He walks through a curtain, gesticulating grandly at the Prime where he sits. You had half been expecting Optimus, or perhaps some ancient Optimus look-a-like, but this mech you don’t recognise. He stands regally, gazing out upon the Cybertronians lining the streets, and waving down to those who join the march. He is of a sleek, royal blue, with golden highlights all about his frame and on his faceplates. His optics are a bright primusian aqua, to match the armour on his arms and legs, and a similarly bright orange across his shoulders and back. He has an air of dignity truly worthy of respect.

“Oh, Primus, this is Nominus’ procession? Had I known I wouldn’t have even bothered to show you. He was a Prime in name only, and worst of all, have you seen his paintjob? Horrific colour clash, I tell you. Worse than anything you humans come up with in your movies.”

“Are you allowed to say such things about a previous Prime?”

“Tsk, Nominus wasn’t really a Prime. Besides, anyone with a paintjob like that deserves what’s coming to them.” He places you on the front of the carriage and leans behind Nominus, putting up two pointed fingers in a bunny-ear gesture behind the regal blue helm. “Take a photo of me!”

“Knock Out!” You scold disapprovingly, while snapping several comical pictures of the stern-faced Prime with Knock Out pulling amusing faces beside him.

“Oh, you love it. Now come on, let’s see how many Senators we can catch doing something embarrassing while they think there aren’t any cameras on them!” He sets off through the curtain again to the other carriages connected to the Prime’s frontal one. Shaking your head and suppressing laughter, you climb down and follow him.

**Breakdown**

There was singing and dancing all around, and a fountain spewing fresh high-grade energon, which was not the viscous, blue substance you saw Breakdown get for his rations back on the Nemesis, but instead a vibrant, sparkling lilac fluid which had a wholesome glow.

“It’s my favourite holiday!” Breakdown beams.

“I didn’t know Cybertronians had holidays! What’s this one?”

“Holidays are pretty common across the universe, but ours are the best! Especially All Spark Day. It’s a day to make merry and celebrate the very core of our sentience and life itself: our sparks. We have another holiday for celebrating the circuits and frames we’re born with, that’s Motherboard Day, but this one’s the best one!” He seems very excited, and it’s catching for you.

“A celebration of robot souls and the transcendental nature of life? As fascinating as it is, it doesn’t seem like your thing… It’s surprising you’re so into it.” You muse.

“Well, I don’t care too much about the whole ethereal side of it, but it was an excuse to get roaring drunk and exchange fun stories with each other every few cycles. What’s not to love? Uh, but, y’know, the delicate yet fierce flame of the ever-burning spark is cool too.”

“Ha! That’s more like the Breakdown I know. Can you drink high grade in a space-time fissure?”

“Don’t think so, honestly, but I can pretend to!” He jogs over to the fountain and sets you down before dunking his head straight into it. The energon flows through him.

“Drunk yet?”

“Not really, but I can pretend to be!” He picks you up again and staggers around exaggeratedly, stumbling in the direction of a live band. He sways this way and that, as though he might drop you, but you know he never will.

“Breakdown! You’re making me dizzy! Settle down!” You giggle.

“S’alright shweetspark, I’m perfec- perfeckly OK t’ drive.” He sits down all the same while you laugh, dropping the drunk act. “Oi, look who’s performing. It’s that piece of scrap, Jazz.”

“What? You have jazz on Cybertron?” The music playing sounded so alien to you, it was hard to even guess at a genre.

“Nah, I mean in the band, one of the mechs playing… He was there for a while on Earth. Called himself Jazz. He’s an Autobot though, so obviously a total glitch.”

“Obviously.”

“Decent on an Aghartan electro-bass though… Remind me to take you to see some real Cybertronian music when the war’s over, eh?”

“I’d like that. In the meantime, whenever it’s All Spark Day in our time, feel free to let me know. We can celebrate together! To being alive!”

“To being alive!”

**Predaking**

The rust plains stretched for miles all around. To your right, in the very far distance, the ground rose in the beginnings of a canyon, but the distance was so great it was too hazy to break the dusty monotony of the landscape. And yet, everywhere you looked, you saw clusters of them. Some solemnly huddled, some cheering, some embracing each other. Predacons. Ancient Transformers with beastly alt-modes. From your perch on Predaking’s back, you felt his plating shift beneath you. He was clearly deeply moved by the sight before him.

“The last time so many of my kind were together like this… There can only be one explanation. It is Unity Day.”

“They look happy! It’s nice to see your kindred like this.”

“Ah, my queen, none celebrate like the Predacons! As you humans say, we know well how to party! But this occasion is both joyous and portentous at once. Normally we would crack open the kegs of energon and make merry, but today is Unity Day… A day of great relief for many, but mourning for others. A Great War across Cybertron had unified the beastformers against a common foe. We won the day, but many lives were lost in the process. Still, we celebrate the peace and unity achieved for our kind.”

“A war? But aren’t the Cybertronians still fighting a Great War?”

“Ha! That is their ‘great war’. The arrogant fools do not learn from history, they think each war that comes to them is the greatest and worst Cybertron has ever faced, and that surely the loss of life they face will be enough to keep future generations from daring to start another. But there is always another.”

“Humans and Cybertronians… We’re more alike than we might care to admit, Preda.”

The king of Predacons heaved a sigh. “If only we were alike in the ways which are not so self-destructive. But come, while we are here, there is much I wish to show you! This is a chance I never thought I’d have – to enable you to see what I loved most about my homeland.”

He takes to the air upon his great wings, and the ground stretches out below you. The two of you visit the old memorial grounds, where mechs below are gathered to pay respects to the fallen. The monument gleams, dark and steadfast. You imagine it must be standing four million years later in your own time, it looks so fixated to the planet’s surface. Yet, the architecture is beautiful and delicate, many spires curling to the sky like smoke, Cybertronian glyphs rippling down every surface. Names, one might presume. The air is warm and there is a sense of peace, like when one walks into a very old place of worship.

“I find it hard to understand why the other Decepticons would think your kind the primitive ones when you build something so beautiful, and had such complex and lovely traditions.”

“They didn’t care to find out about the things we celebrated, nor give us credit for our craftmanship. They assumed it was primitive because we were not there to tell them otherwise, so surely their new ideas could only be improvements.”

You pat one of his steely antlers sympathetically, and he takes off again, this time to alight among strange tents, drawn together from soft metal mesh and the metallic hides of what you can only guess must be native Cybertronian mechanimals.

“These are… Cozier than the memorial monument.” You observe.

“We are a nomadic people. Grand structures that scrape the heavens cannot so easily be packed up and taken when a sandstorm calls us to move homes.” He stalks inside one of the tents, and from your vantage point you see a black-and-white striped feline Transformer with a hawkish brown femme, both bearing the scars of many hard-fought battles, but laughing and sharing cubes of energon.

“Tigatron and Airazor… Good friends of mine, a fearsome duo in combat. They shared a bond so close some said their sparks pulsed as a single being. I feel… We also have a close bond, though one of us does not have a spark to pulse with the other. Our kind had a simple life, even the king lived in a tent such as this one, but I would have liked to share that life with you.”

“Aw, Predaking… I would have been happy with that, but I’m happy with what we have now! If your friends are alive, though… Maybe you could show me your real tent?”

“I… Do not think I can go there. When we first stepped through the portal, I thought I might, but… At this time… My mate would be alive. Though it would be nice to see her one last time, I will keep my memories only. I have new memories to make, and a new generation of Predacons to protect. With them, I will celebrate the old traditions and hope they learn from history, with you beside me to teach them.”


End file.
